drowning is like breathing
by busy pushing up daisies
Summary: -she hates the cold, which is ironic, since it seems to love her.- she's been drowning for years, and he'll never let go.- !Not an OC!


-she hates the cold, which is ironic, since it seems to love her.- she's been drowning for years, and he'll never let go.-

* * *

She is three when she really understands her brother -j_ack-, _acknowledges the word _family_, the very definition, its the way he holds her hand, impatient smile tugging at his lips as he hurries her.

"Hurry up, Jill," he says, tugs on her hand insistently as her short legs attempt to catch up. She huffs, stomps her feet to anchor her hold. He stops, looks back, bemusement curling his brow.

"I don't want to," she whines petulantly, lower lip jutting out, tears threatening her eyes. He is young, immature, and releases her hand.

"Quit whining," he admonishes, and continues. For a brief moment, she stands still, gaping mouth, and trailing eyes, before startling to reality- his footsteps die away. She starts after him, breath coming in short gasps, cheeks flushed a red hue. "Wait! _Wait_, Jack!"

She trips. She recognizes a dull pain in her ankle, a burn escalating, and tears litter the snow. The shock wears down her cries, but she gasps anyways, as if short of oxygen.

He returns, warm hands guiding her up, twisting her onto his back, reassuring whispers obscuring in the cracks of trepidation.

"It's okay, Jill-billy," he hums, awkward clauses stutter his tongue, as he feels embarrassed speaking the words but says them anyways, "It's alright. I'm here."

Her sniffles ease to a giggle, even when the pain is still palpable. She snuggles her face into his back, he's warm. She is three when she realizes the word '_jack_' is synonymous with warmth, family, love, and everything in between.

_Brother._

….

She is five when she gets into her first fight with him. He wants to go hang out with his friends, after hours of laborious work (it's not really, but he likes to exaggerate) in the fields, he deserves some time off. But she wants to go with him, which frankly, is embarrassing.

Mother scolds him for making his sister cry, wraps her in her arms and lets him go. He sighs, relieved, and leaves without looking back.

She is five when she's first heartbroken. She cries, and Mother tells her to be quiet, and let her brother and mother have some peace. She stills, only because _he_ isn't there to listen, to be annoyed. She is sleeping when he comes home, arms tucked behind his back. She blinks away drowsiness, curiously tilting her head to the side.

"Hey Jill-billy," he starts nervously, eyes wavering on her tear stained cheeks. She humphs loudly, turns away with crossed arms.

"Hey now," he laughs, "you don't hate me do you, Jill?"

She blinks, mumbles noncommittally.

"What?"

"Maybe," she mutters, small finger trailing a circle on the floor. He is silent, the fire in the hearth cracks. Abruptly, a furry animal teases her vision. She gasps, palms slapping against her cheeks comically, and giggles when the puppy licks her face. She embraces the animal, giggling madly.

"Jack," comes Mother's voice, warning.

"It's alright, Mother," he replies, rubbing Jill's head fondly. "Oliver says we can borrow it for the day."

She tackles him, laughing. They wrestle and finally she defeats him, and mumbles into his shirt.

Jack hesitates before, "I love you too, Jill."

Mother smiles from the doorway, hand bent down to rub the puppy.

She is five when she realizes she loves her family more than anything in the world.

...

She is seven when the ice cracks, swallows, _steals_ her brother whole. Her steps wrinkles the sheets of coldness as she edges towards the hole, yells his name, till her voice is hoarse, cracking with abuse.

"Jack!" she yells, as if that will bring him back. "Jack!" she yells, until her heart swells, and her face is red, and- _nonono, jack is still there, you have to believe me, he's waiting, i swear!_

She is seven when she grows to loathe the cold, and what it means.

…

She is eight when she travels to their own little tree. The aged bark tells stories if anyone is willing to listen. Her hand trails the carved words, the pathetic stick figures staining the wood.

"_Jack and Jill against the world"_, it says. She screams, bashes her fingers against the wood, peeling and scratching and wasting- and please, _just go away jack, go away- leave me alone!_

She is eight when she collapses on the snow, curled in a fetal position. Something whispers against her bangs, ghosts over her head fondly. She is eight and she swears Jack won't leave her alone.

…

She is ten when she stops saying, "I have a brother."

In fact, she stops talking entirely.

…

She is twelve when Mother passes away, riddled with grief,- and there's two graves now.

She is twelve when she stops saying, "I have a mother."

She is twelve.

…

Years age slowly, time whittling her bones to the core, as if she were a flawed character, and the author ripped her apart to mend her again, into the perfect world. Except it's not.

It's freezing, and she's starving, buried in snow.

She is twenty when he finds her.

"What's your name?" he asks curiously, wiping the snow off his tunic.

"Jill," she whispers, voice a frail thing.

"Well, Jill," he replies, smiling, "my name is Jamie. Jamie Brown. It's nice to meet you."

Jill is cold, skin shivering, but allows a smile anyways.

…

She is thirty and in love. With her husband and her child.

"Jamie, honey, put down the pot and help Mother, will you?" The child toddles after her, hands grasping her skirt.

"I swear," Jamie says behind her, arms tightening around her waist, "I'm going to change the boy's name. Why did you want to name him after me anyways?"

"I like it," she replies simply, releasing his hold, and grasping the child's small fingers.

"Well," Jamie concedes, "it is a devilishly handsome name, if I don't say so myself."

She laughs, pecks his cheek.

She is thirty and she can almost forget him, almost. The ghost lingers in the back of the mind.

…

"No."

"Please, Mother? Everyone else is doing it," Jamie Jr. whines, pouting with his hands on his hips. She stirs the broth slowly, eyes hard.

"Not everyone," she retorts.

"Who's not going?"

"You."

He scowls, stomps his foot as her eyes narrow. The door opens, allowing a silver of cold in, flakes glistening on the wooden floor. Jamie closes the door behind him, smiling jovially before realizing the silence.

"Er," he says.

"Father!" Jamie Jr. starts, sprinting to his father for a hug. They embrace as she stiffens.

"Father," Jamie Jr. says, "Mother won't let me go with the other kids."

"Now, now," Jamie laughs, setting his son down, "did you remember what I told you about Junior not being a baby anymore?"

She is silent.

"Honey?" he prompts, concern marring his brow.

Her fingers still, "He wants to go to the ice, Jamie. _The ice_."

She starts when warm fingers pry her own from the wooden spoon, and hugs her.

"I hate this," she cries, tears tracking down her face, "I hate it, hate it, hate it!" Her fists pound against his chest.

"I know, Jill, I know. I hate what he's done to you. He won't let you go."

She chokes, and there's a small tug at her skirt. Junior stares up at her imploringly, and apologizes.

"Sorry Mother, I didn't mean to make you upset."

She cries harder, huddling her family together, even when it feels like something missing. Because no one's missing, she knows this, but it hurts all the same.

Eventually she'll let him go to the ice, watches as her own child drifts away, grows up. The wind heightens, blows her hair, and she grasps the shawl around her shoulders tightly.

...

She is sixty when she forgets she doesn't have a brother anymore. She is sixty and feels like she's six again, when brothers were still alive, would help her through everything.

An apparition flickers in her peripheral vision, a ghost of warmer times, brown hair and soft eyes. She closes her eyes, shakes her head, holds back the cry scuttling up her throat.

Carefully, she pick up a hefty rock, launches it at the ice, at the barrier, and wishes that day never happened, that Jack was still alive, still whole, _here_- she taps her chest where her heart lies, a shimmer of forgotten memory.

"_I'll always be here,"_ he had said, holding a hand over his chest and then tapping hers.

_Here._

The ice cracks. She sighs, as if releasing a burden of memory, of regrets. Like being held under water for so long, and arms finally letting her go up for fresh air. That sharp intake of breath after a dive.

"Good bye, Jack," she whispers. She's been drowning for years, it's only fair he let her go now.

Behind her, the moon shines.

…

She has grandchildren now, she's proud and happy. Jamie Jr. fathered two daughters and a son, a son who was happily dubbed 'Jamie'.

"I figure it's tradition," Jamie Jr. says, pecks her cheek.

She allows a smile. "Your father would have been proud."

The frost starts to grow in her heart though, as she watches her own son drift away from her family, make his own. His pretty wife smiles at her. She hands them back their son, waves good bye.

"Would you like me to take you home, Mother? It's awfully cold outside," the wife says, (the wife she never approved of, but a mother's word doesn't count for anything does it?), stepping forward.

"No, dear," Jill replies (she didn't bother to remember her name), "I'm fine."

As she walks home, the moon guides her way, lighting up her path. She's feeling more sentimental than usual, and smiles up at the moon.

"Thank you."

It feels like something is grasping her hand, a shiver of something, passing through her flesh. She blinks, brings up the hand to inspect it, and a flake rests on her palm.

She doesn't know what makes her say it, she doesn't know why.

"Jack."

The wind picks up, blows at her graying hair. She shivers, hurries her way home when the wind persists. Ice creeps along her boots, curious, shy and when she closes the door, frost edges on the door.

Something's squeezing her heart, and it's like she can't breathe again.

…

The cold seems to relish her, always there when she steps outside, and it's supposed to be spring, but it's snowing outside her bedroom. There are rumors about demons, spirits, winter staying longer, killing the cattle, suffocating the crops.

The children love it, do not yet understand it.

There are rumors and she closes the door to whispers.

…

She is at the lake again, weak legs carrying her to her last resting place, bones creaking to settle on the mound of snow.

She releases a breath of air, frost forming in the oxygen. She watches the ice, still and glistening, and tilts her head to the side. The tree has glossed over with ice, like small leaves dancing along the bark. She laughs, edges to the ice slowly. With skeletal fingers, shaking, she draws.

"_Jack and Jill against the world,"_ it says, with pitiful stick figures to accompany it.

Drowsiness claims her, eases her eyelids, and she gives one last sigh.

"Jack," she whispers simply, and it's like he's still there, cold fingers twisted in hers (except his were warm, but she takes what she can get), and remembers Mother, Jack, Jamie, _family._ A chest, still, a burden, lifted.

The moon shines on her, and the snow is a fitting burial.

She's been drowning for years and he'll never let go- _and that's alright._

_Jack._

**-end.**

* * *

**A/N:** blah, i like it. i took the liberty of giving his sister a name since it wasn't given in the movie (was it?) I like this name anyways :P. It could be seen as an original character, i suppose, but i tried really hard to merge what little we saw of her in the movie. also, i am totally for the fan theory that jamie is a descendant of jack's sister (jill, in this case). they do look alike, and it explains why he's drawn to him! besides, the obvious factor that jamie still believes. sorry for the lame title. anyways, please review! I'd like to know what people think.


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